


Sickness of the Mind

by AllThatNoise



Series: Sickness of the Mind [1]
Category: Left 4 Dead 2, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:45:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThatNoise/pseuds/AllThatNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after the infection hasn't gotten any better, food is hard to come by, less people to trust and the sheer loneliness that could drive anyone mad but its not stopping a scavenger from looking for her sister. Until one unbelievable incident sends her overseas to England, right to the door step of 221B Baker Street. She's not only stuck in a unfamiliar country but caught between a not so friendly highly functioning sociopath and his brother that thinks she's a threat to what's left of England's national security.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sickness of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second draft and maybe not my last, I'll add more chapters as soon as I can especially involving the Sherlock characters but I want to make sure that the setting make sense to me.

Welcome to my head, the name’s Nick and I’m a 22-year old black girl living in the ruins of a once prosperously corrupt society that is the US of A. Yeah that is a mouth full for a sentence forming in my mind but what else is there to do? The world has ended as I knew it, all thanks to some crazy zombie flu that spread all over pretty quickly. I mean I didn’t get the chance to prepare like other hardcore zombie loving Americans hoping for this exact thing to happen. But I’m still alive and uninfected so I got that going for me. Besides the fact that I’m alone in New Orleans and running low on food, I’m still doing alright. I’m not really in the mood to relive much of my past since before the infection, it’s just depressing and I don’t want to distract myself while I scavenge. It’s around noon as I walk my usual route through the wreckage littering the New Orleans roads. The smell of burning petroleum enters my nostrils as I creep closer to a destroyed gas station pump. There are silhouettes dancing playfully against what was left of the gas station wall, the things creating the lovely puppet show is a small crowd of infected civilians wandering aimlessly. I pull a little mechanical monkey toy out of my backpack, it’s the one with the clapping cymbals, and toss it as far away as I could; it bounces off crumbled concrete and whirs itself on. I wait patiently in a dark enough alley while the infected turn their attention toward my little distraction while I rush over to the gas station wall. I squeeze through a large hole and quickly fumble around for some food. Any food really; any that wasn’t growing mold or older than me. To my luck, some other survivors had already pilfered through this area. In frustration, I kick a random can which rolls over to another can which hits another can creating a domino effect of loud and unwanted clanging throughout the ruined store. I cringe from my stupid action and jump when the maintenance closet door falls off its hinges. Loud moans escape the new entrance and I reach for my backpack for my trusty crowbar, Jawbreaker. Armed and ready I quietly get to a safe distance and wait for the infected to wander outside. To my surprise it ran out quickly and crashes into fallen racks of empty cans and trash right in front of me. I cover my mouth to muffle the oncoming laughter; the guy’s gas station uniform was soaked with stale soda and crumbled chips. He looked ridiculous covered in trash and trying to scramble back onto his feet only to make more of a mess of things. It’s like watching an old Tom and Jerry cartoon. The infected snarls and turns his attention to my laughter and slowly makes his way towards my direction. I hold my ground and tighten my grip on my weapon just waiting for the infected to do something. The infected just bump my shoulder as it walks passed me toward the gas station’s broken front doors. I could have sworn that I heard a low ‘Excuse me’ pour into my head as he passed. The words seemed to seep through his filthy teeth. I turn my attention to the maintenance room and manage to find a few cans that had something edible inside them. It appears that this infected tried to hole himself up in the maintenance closet for a while until he changed. I quietly mumble thanks for the guy and stash the food into my increasingly light backpack before I hightailed back to the safe house.  
  
Once safe and sound inside the reinforced steel doors I drop my backpack onto the ground and set Jawbreaker onto the worn and battered workbench. There’s a broken mirror leaning against the wall nearby. I take a once over at myself. I notice the tan forming on my neck and arms. I honestly I thought I would look pale from lack of proper nutrition, but my constant scavenging in the Louisiana sun had given me a nice full body tan on my cappuccino skin. I don’t complain about tanning anymore though, anyone else in the area is a sickly green hue that makes me looking like the healthiest person in the city. My cheeks are a little sunken from a few missed meals but not enough to lose roundness of my face. My t-shirt and favorite pair of jeans are torn and worn in all the right places maybe even a little loose are coated in a mountain load of dirt and gallons of blood which helps me blend with other infected. There was this one time that the look worked too well and some idiot shot at me while I was scavenging, he only grazed my leg but that story is for later. I grab a marker then turn my attention to my extensive map collection enveloping the walls, and check off all the locations I’ve visited for the day. It’s a habit I’ve taken to after moving around to different towns and cities over the past few months of infection. Better to have a grasp on the area then wander around blind. So far the maps were completely covered with marks and doodles. It was getting to the point that I’d need to roll out and search for a new safe house. I quietly pack up the essentials into my backpack, never taking any more ammunition or med kits than needed. It’s just a survivor’s courtesy, others leave behind ammo, med kits, and even crazy scrawled on notes on the walls for the next group that comes in. It’s just some proof that there’s still good in the world, so I leave notes on my maps on areas that I haven’t scavenged yet and the possible threat of infected that populate it. Basically I just wanted to keep the chain going.  
  
I break my train of thought when I hear a loud screeching and banging noise coming from outside. I slide the heavy metal door open enough to get an eyeful of the setting sun descending behind overgrown historical Louisiana landmarks. I push the lovely marvel aside as I spot a small group of infected chasing a team of survivors. I nervously bite my bottom lip whenever I have to make an important decision and this one is high up on my list. I can help them out and lead them to the safe house or let them handle things on their own. They didn’t appear to be in immediate danger at the moment; it was only a handful of infected at their heels. I narrow my eyes to get a closer look at the newcomers. There were 5 total, none were firing their guns so they must have ran out of ammunition for some time; one was injured and slowing down another survivor carrying him. The other three had cracked wooden baseball bats that were ready to bust at any time and they all looked exhausted. I have already made up my mind as I slide on my heavy backpack, I prop the safe house door open with a cinder block and run towards the commotion. Pulling out a hatchet from my pack, I hack my way through a few common infected and inched closer to the other survivors. I try to keep a reasonable distance so I won’t get hit, so I climb on top of an overturned car and let out a loud shrill whistle toward them.  
Once I had their attention I point toward the safe house and jumped off the car to lead them to safety. ‘I really hope they’d these guys would follow me, I hate it when they don’t follow.’ I couldn’t help but think of the few time other survivors were too stubborn to trust me and refused to follow me or listen to my advice. I had nightmares for weeks after the last group I tried to help. I occasionally glance behind me to make sure they were there, it turns out that three of the survivors were closing in. “The door is…*pant* propped open.” Returning my hatchet to my backpack, I use my now free hand to point toward the safe house door and slow down to let them pass me. They pant “Thanks” and a “Bless you” under their breaths and hurriedly pass through the heavy doors while I jog back to help the other two. For what I could tell the injured one had a nasty cut on his leg and the other able survivor was trying to support most of his friend’s weight over one shoulder. I shimmy myself to the injured man’s side and place my arm under his shoulder to take on some of the weight. We slowly worked our way passed simple obstacles and made it to the door; until we hear a familiar screech bellow through the roof tops. A Hunter pounces onto the safe house roof and noisily sniffs the air the absently claws at the concrete under its feet before angrily jumping behind the structure. I take a deep breath, relieved that it lost the others scents.  
  
An audible cough was emerges from the cramp alleyways and an oncoming horde was trampling over debris toward us. I release my hold on the injured man to turn around and face the danger. Releasing Jawbreaker from my pack, I manage to whisper loudly, “Once you’re inside close the door.” The injured man tried to grab my arm but I wiggled out of his weakening grasp. “I’ll be fine, just get inside.” He managed to yell something just before his friends shut the heavy doors; I think it was something like a “thanks” or a “Is she crazy?!” I couldn’t hear very well since the horde was getting closer. As I navigate through an increasingly darkening alley a ragged wheezing coming from the dark shadows behind me. I was holding Jawbreaker so tightly that my knuckles were beginning to sting. I can feel my heart rate jump alive for the first time all day. It’s always tense whenever there’s one of those mutated infected around. All of them are unpredictable in my presence. The thick smoke fuming from the Smoker clouded my nostrils, I try to keep my distance but he looks like he has his sights on me.  
  
I could have sworn I heard a low raspy voice ask, “yoooooooou…….gooooo?” I could see small tuffs of smoke escape from the smoker’s lips as it staggers closer to me. I shrug nonchalantly as I turn around from the smoker and the growing mob of infected bombarding the steel door. A few common infected roughly running and bumping against me as they rush toward where they thought the survivors were. The disembodied voice begins to follow me and swollen infected hands grasp my shoulders from behind. I can feel a slimy elongated tongue hover around my arm and neck. “…sssssstay” I slide the tongue and clammy hands off my person and pull myself up onto a fire escape and continue up to the rooftops. I know he watched my every move intently. I turn around once more to look at the special infected. It stared at me with his glazed illuminated yellow eyes, smoke emitting from various bullet holes in its body and a few stray coughs escape his mouth. I shake my head and quietly whisper more to myself than to it, “Maybe next time.”


End file.
